The Hawthorne Effect
by Len
Summary: J/D: 7th in the Operation Moss series. Josh and Donna are both acting strange, for very different reasons...


The Hawthorne Effect  
By Len  
Len's website: http://geocities.com/sekhmet_poppy/threshold.html   
Spoilers: Everything up to and including `Two Cathedrals'  
Teaser: 7th in the `Operation Moss' series. Josh and Donna are both acting strange...  
Disclaimer: The only characters I own (well, try and control, really) are David and Norie. All the rest belong to the genius that is Aaron Sorkin. Also, 'We Are The Champions' belongs to Queen, 'Walk of Life' is by Dire Straits  
Notes: Will bribe for FEEDBACK!! How's a tall amaretto cappuccino sound? (-:  
More notes: This is the second to last story in my series, so enjoy! I hope it doesn't disappoint, and thanks for being so patient!!  
  
~*~ Part One ~*~  
  
"I am two fools, I know, for loving, and for saying so."  
-John Donne, `The Triple Fool'.  
  
  
Oh, my kingdom for a pink rubber ball. Or possibly a wall. I'm   
going nuts here.  
  
Shut up. I know what you're thinking. And you're wrong. I,   
Joshua Lyman, am in full possession of my faculties. I just hate   
making up my mind and then realizing that it would be sixteen kinds   
of wrong if I actually acted on it.   
  
I wonder if I could get my pencil to stick in the ceiling.   
  
Ouch. Guess not.  
  
I would do something if it weren't completely the wrong time for   
it. I mean, seriously: The President announces he has MS, the   
President announces his intention to run for a second term and Mrs.   
Landingham is killed in an accident versus "Hey, Donna, just thought   
you should know that I'm nuts about you and could you please get   
Frank Walters on the phone." You do the math.  
  
I fight the urge to doodle in the margins of the memo Donna typed   
for me. It only depresses me when I lose at tic-tac-toe against   
myself.  
  
Yeah, I'm supposed to be working. I know that. I work for the   
most powerful man in the country-I'm always supposed to be working.   
But it's hard to concentrate when you've just recently realized   
you're half-crazy about Donnatella Moss and there is absolutely   
nothing you can do about that right now. Because-and let's say it   
this time with feeling-your timing sucks.  
  
I toss my pencil up in the air again, this time too hard. It   
bounces off the ceiling and narrowly misses impaling Donna as she   
walks through the door. But some strange assistant sixth sense   
causes her to turn to the left when she enters. "We should get you   
some kind of toy to play with," she observes. "I could ask Toby   
where he bought his basketball hoop from."  
  
"Nah," I reply, trying to look as if I haven't been staring off   
into space for the past ten minutes. "I don't have time for toys. I   
am a very important man."  
  
"So you say," she smirks. "I got you some more stuff for the   
Tobacco thing. Hey-did you know that tobacco was first brought to   
England by Sir Walter Raleigh way back at the beginning of the 17th   
century?"  
  
I shuffle some papers around. "No, I did not-"  
  
She plops down in the other chair, and goes into full lecture   
mode. "Actually, when it was introduced, King James the First wrote   
a booklet, taking a position against it's use. It's an excellent   
example of early government regulation."  
  
"I'm guessing it didn't work, though, right?"  
  
"Well, no. But don't you think that you're in good company with   
this Tobacco lawsuit? I mean, you have the man behind the Bible on   
your side!"  
  
"You mean God?"  
  
"Josh! King James. You know what I meant."  
  
I smirk. "Occasionally, Donnatella, I actually do. And you have   
no idea how that terrifies me."  
  
My assistant appears to be contemplating the merits of sticking   
her tongue out. She settles for rolling her eyes. "Okay, then. You   
have a meeting on the Hill in forty minutes." She drops a folder of   
papers on my desk and exits.  
  
I turn my attention back to the information she has just handed   
me, trying to puzzle out the post-it on the front. What's this-"Hers   
sane staff br H Zyban HLy" ??  
  
Whatever.  
  
"Hey, Dagwood," CJ says, striding into my office. She has   
her `Woman on a Mission' expression on. What is she up to?  
  
"Hey," I say cautiously.  
  
"You want to come over to my place tonight? I was going to invite   
all you guys over. Get a twelve-pack, and a veggie pizza..."  
  
"CJ," I object, holding up a hand. "You're trying to convince me   
to come over, right?" she nods. "Then be sure to mention some kind   
of meat, okay? If I want rabbit food I'll go raid Donna's   
refrigerator."  
  
"Speaking of Donna..."  
  
I groan and rub my face. "CJ, don't-okay? I really don't want to   
hear it-"  
  
"...I was thinking about inviting her, too. She hasn't had it easy   
these past couple weeks, either."  
  
"Really?" I grin at her.  
  
"Don't look so damn happy, Josh. You touch her and I'll come   
after you with my rolling pin."  
  
"Do you even own a rolling pin, CJ?"  
  
She narrows her eyes dangerously. "I find it comes in handy when   
I want to fight of intruders. And, you know, make...biscuits."  
  
I lean back in my chair. "Will you make me some biscuits, Claudia   
Jean?"  
  
"Not on you life. I may, however, try and restrain myself from   
siccing Norie Moss on you if you begin to annoy me."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"So you'll come?"  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
CJ starts to leave, but pauses in the doorway. "She doesn't know,   
does she, Josh? Please tell me she has no idea."   
  
I think I'll go out on a limb and guess she's talking about   
Donna. "No. It just hasn't been the right time..."  
  
"Good. Promise me that it won't the right time until all this has   
blown over, will you?"  
  
I wave her away and turn back to my paperwork. "Relax, CJ. She   
has absolutely no idea there is anything going on," I tell her   
confidently. I don't promise her, though, and I think she notices it.  
  
~*~ Part Two ~*~  
  
"The most mistrustful are often the greatest dupes."  
Cardinal de Retz, `Memoires'.  
  
  
Oh, there is definitely something going on. I'm getting a vibe.   
I do that. Get vibes, I mean. Like right now. Josh should be all   
fired up to go after these tobacco people and bang a few heads   
together, but look at him. He's been staring off into space with a   
dorky smile on his face for, like, ten minutes. Something must be   
done.  
  
I gather up a pile of information up into a folder and   
scrawl `Here's some stuff for the Tobacco thing' across it. Then I   
sally forth to do battle, and am nearly killed by a flying pencil.   
That's not fair.  
  
Then, the entire time I'm giving Josh a run down of the   
information I've found, he sits there and stares at me like he knows   
some enormous secret.  
  
Yeah, I know. That scares me, too. I mean, the last secret he   
kept from me was the President's MS. I have to admit that I've been   
waiting for the other shoe to drop, ever since that announcement.   
Maybe this is the third strike of bad luck. Or maybe I have a smudge   
of ink on my face.  
  
But he's not acting like it's bad news. In fact, he seems to be   
glowing with it. It's nerve wracking.  
  
"You have a meeting on the Hill in forty minutes," I tell him, and   
escape. I pass CJ in the hall and she gives me a long, searching   
look. This worries me even more.  
  
There is so something going on.  
  
I decide to go talk to Sam. Maybe I can sweet-talk him into   
spilling the beans. I hope so, because I really don't think it's   
fair for them to leave me out of something again-not after the whole   
MS thing. I walk through the communications bullpen and then lean   
casually against his door frame.  
  
"Hello Sam!"  
  
He looks up with a smile. "Hey Donna! What's up?"  
  
I take that as an invitation to sit down, which I do. "Sam, I   
have to ask you something," I say, pulling the chair closer to his   
desk and whispering. He begins to look faintly apprehensive.  
  
"What?" he whispers back.  
  
"I'm getting this vibe, Sam. It's a bad vibe. In fact-" I break   
off as the back of my neck begins to prickle. When I spin around,   
there is no-one there. "In fact," I continue, "I think the third bad   
thing is happening."  
  
Sam now looks nervous. "Third bad thing? I haven't heard   
anything," he says.  
  
I must convince him to tell me. "Sam, Josh is acting really...I   
don't know. He's not focused on anything."  
  
"Oh," Sam says knowingly.  
  
"Oh?" I echo.  
  
"Oh. Oh, you know, he's probably got a lot on his mind," he goes   
on.  
  
I open my eyes a little wider, trying for innocence. " And CJ? I   
don't know, Sam, she looks like she's ready to kill..."  
  
"Well, she's got a lot to worry about, too." He smiles across at   
me weakly. "I wouldn't worry about it, Donna. Everything's fine."  
  
"Yeah, that's what Caesar thought, too."  
  
"Caesar?"  
  
"Yeah, Julius Caesar. And the soothsayer. The soothsayer had a   
bad vibe, Sam. Beware the Ides of March."  
  
"Donna, don't take this the wrong way, but I think you should   
stick to decaf for a while..."  
  
But I ignore him. Something is bouncing around in my head,   
sitting on the tip of my brain..."Oh my God!" I shout. Sam jumps and   
shies back.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"The Ides of March, Sam. Except it's more the Ides of May...and," I   
reflect, "It's not exactly the Ides...but...Sam!"  
  
"What?" he repeats, sounding slightly hysterical.  
  
"It's May!  
  
"I know!"  
  
"It's the anniversary of the shooting, Sam. Is that why Josh is   
acting so weird?"   
  
This seems to actually strike him. "Hmm..." he says. "It could   
be. Y'know what? It really could explain a few things..."  
  
I should have known. I should have remembered. What kind of   
assistant wouldn't remember something like that? For that matter,   
what kind of friend could forget that?  
  
Sam is talking, but I'm not really listening to what he says. I'm   
still kind of stunned. No wonder Josh is so...  
  
"But he doesn't seem upset," I tell him, cutting him off. "He   
keeps smiling. Oh no!"  
  
Sam's eyes are wide. "What?"  
  
"What if it's the PTSD? What if he's having another breakdown?"   
Visions of last Christmas fill my head, especially the sight of the   
gash on Josh's hand as it was stitched up my a doctor. Not again.  
  
I feel kind of sick.  
  
"Hey, Donna?" Carol pokes her head into Sam's office. "David's   
here. He's waiting for you at your desk."  
  
"Okay," I say absently. "I'll be right there. Thanks, Carol."  
  
I look at Sam. He looks at me. He looks concerned, and kind of   
confused. I'm not totally sure he registers it when I leave.  
  
For that matter, I'm not totally sure _I_ register it when I   
leave. Fantastic. Another PTSD episode. The third bad thing.  
  
~*~ Part Three ~*~  
  
"The Hawthorne Effect: Named after a series of experiments involving   
the Hawthorne Works of the Western Electric Company, this effect is   
produced when members of a test group modify their behavior because   
they know they are in an experiment. Subjects who know they are   
being observed may not act according to their usual behavioral mode..."  
--E. Grigsby, `Analyzing Politics', 1999.  
  
  
I have begun to concentrate - actually read two consecutive   
sentences - when Donna bursts in. She looks a little pale. "Josh!"   
she cries.  
  
"Donna!"  
  
She reins her enthusiasm in a little. "Sorry - am I interrupting   
something?"  
  
"That's never stopped you before," I reply. She doesn't rise to   
the bait.  
  
"I'm going out to lunch. But I will be back in exactly one hour.   
Possibly less. Ask Ginger if you need something, and Sam's in his   
office."  
  
"Okay..." I say. Then it clicks. Out to lunch. Which generally   
means "Out to lunch with Davy Boy".   
  
Well, now that I admit to being half-crazy about her, I may as   
well admit to feeling a small amount of jealousy over that   
relationship. So as I don't mean to abuse my position of   
considerable power, I'm sure not going to let Dave take her to   
lunch - or anywhere else - without a fight. And I'm a politician - I   
fight dirty. "No," I tell her.  
  
She cocks her head. "No?"  
  
"No. I need you to work through lunch today. You know - help me   
go over the notes for Big Tobacco. Dave can take Norie out to   
lunch. He won't notice the difference," I continue, trying not to   
wince. I brace myself for the explosion that always follows one of   
my `Dave is a Gomer' comments.   
  
It doesn't happen.  
  
"All right," she says, and nods.  
  
Okay, who are you? And what have you done with Donna? I am so   
stunned by her reaction, all I can do is gape and blink at her.  
  
Blink.  
  
Blink.  
  
Still nothing. What the hell is going on here? Donna has never,   
ever let me get away with that. Not without a fight. But now she   
seems almost...worried...scared...just this side of terrified, in fact.   
That's really weird-  
  
"Josh?" Donna says, verbally waving a hand in front of my   
face. "I'm just going to go tell David, then I'll be right back.   
Okay?"  
  
I nod. "Yeah." Except that it comes out sounding kind of   
like, "Ychgahg."  
  
Maybe I am going nuts. It's a possibility I should probably   
examine more carefully.  
  
When Donna returns, she is still pale. She has this expression   
like I've got her hamster and am holding a gun to it's   
head. "Donna," I say. She jumps a little.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Are you okay? You look a little...kind of...terrible."  
  
A small spark of the Normal Donna returns. "Wow, Josh - I bet you   
say that to all the girls. But," she raises her chin a little, "I'm   
fine. How are you doing, Joshua?"  
  
Well, by some miracle I managed to get you to spend lunch with me   
instead of that gomer lawyer, so..."Fine. Great, even. Exceedingly   
well. And, erm, thanks for asking."  
  
"Okay," she says.  
  
"Yeah," I reply.   
  
She sits there. I sit there. We stare at each other for awhile.   
She has the most beautiful alabaster skin, and these eyes that just   
seem to glow-  
  
"Augh!" Donna yells, standing up abruptly.  
  
"What?" I say automatically. "What'd I do?"  
  
She throws her hands up. "Nothing! Something! I don't know, but   
you're really starting to bug me!"  
  
Ouch. See, if I weren't half-crazy about the woman, that would   
have made me laugh. But since we've already established the fact   
that I _am_ crazy about Donna, it did. It hurt, that is. Oh -  
nothing serious, I will recover and go onto bigger and better things,   
but it sort of stung. I bug her?   
  
"I just bug in general?" I ask, "or was there something specific?   
Really, Donna, you're going to have to give me a little bit more to   
go on...."  
  
She sits down again, looking meek. This person is not Donna.   
This person isn't even the Un-Donna. "I'm sorry, Josh. Forget it."  
  
"Um...yeah. Okay. So!" I say, trying to shake off the feeling that   
there is something very wrong, "Let's get started. Tell me what you   
know about Philip Morris."  
  
  
~*~ Part Four ~*~  
  
`We all know that men, for the most part, are two-timing twerps.   
It's part of their genetic make-up, and often not even the lovin' of   
a good woman can change that. But why should men have all the fun?   
Here's a guide on how to juggle the men in _your_ life, without   
fracturing the fragile male ego.'  
*Excerpt from `A Man For Every Day of the Week' by Leonora C.   
Moss, Life and Fashion Magazine.  
  
  
"Josh," I say, "Is it okay if I go out to lunch? Everything's   
caught up, so you don't have to worry about a thing. I will be back   
in one hour. Possibly less." I study him anxiously for signs of an   
impending breakdown. I see some sort of weird maniacal flash in his   
eyes. Oh dear.  
  
But I _have_ to go to lunch. I've been completely neglecting   
David lately, ever since the whole MS thing blew up. David's been   
very understanding, but I think he's starting to get bored with me.   
I need to patch up our Almost-Relationship before that blows up in my   
face too.  
  
"No!" Josh yells desperately.  
  
"No?"  
  
"No...I...uh...We need to work through lunch!" He sounds like he's   
clinging to the last raveling threads of sanity. I feel the blood   
rush out of my face. Dear God, I think he really may be having   
another episode.  
  
"All right," I reassure him. There's no way I'm letting this man   
out of my sight for an hour. He relaxes and then goes back to   
staring off into space. Things are worse than I thought.  
  
I creep out, making no loud noises, to where David is waiting next   
to my desk. He's look particularly handsome in his blue pin-stripe   
suit. "Ready to go?" he asks with a smile. I think fast.  
  
"Um, actually, there some stuff I need to finish up here. Why   
don't you head over to the restaurant order me something? I'll be   
there as soon as I can?"  
  
He doesn't look particularly pleased, but he's a gentleman. "Uh,   
sure. I'll just...I'll meet you there." He gestures vaguely over his   
shoulder, give me a quick peck on the cheek and strides out. The   
second he's out of sight, I dive for my phone. It rings six times   
before a familiar voice picks up.  
  
"Hello, Donna Moss' residence," my sister answers.  
  
"What took you so long?" I squeak. "I'm in...well...a state of   
emergency!"  
  
Norie sounds a little miffed. "Well, excuse me for leaving my   
Donna Crisis Monitor at home. I was in the bath. Speaking of which,   
those bath salts - the blue ones? - those are really nice. What are   
they, lavender? I've always-"  
  
"Norie!!" I hiss. "Shut up and listen to me!"  
  
Much to my surprise, she does. "I have a massive problem," I   
continue, more calmly. "I have to work through lunch."  
  
"So? You always have to work through lunch."  
  
"What ever happened to sisterly concern, Norie?"  
  
She sounds thoughtful. "Hmm. I think it may have washed down the   
drain with those fabulous bath-salts."  
  
I make a wordless sound of protest, and she sighs. "What do you   
need me to do, Dee?"  
  
"Go to lunch."  
  
"Really? I can do that."  
  
"With David," I continue.  
  
"With...no. Absolutely not. No way, no how, no chance, honey."  
  
I clutch the receiver desperately. "Please? I have to - or one   
of us has to - go to lunch. This is the fourth time I've missed this   
week! David thinks I'm neglecting him."  
  
"You _are_ neglecting him," says my sister, the voice of painful   
reason. "He needs to adjust to your schedule."  
  
"Leonora..." I whine. "This is a keeper. I know he is. At least,   
I suspect he may be. And if I don't seem to be making at least some   
effort, he's going to ditch me."  
  
"But you're _not_ making an effort. You're making me make an   
effort."  
  
"I know," I tell her in a small voice.  
  
"You know you're going to owe me big for this, right?"  
  
Augh. Being in Norie's debt is never a nice place to be. But I   
have no choice. "I know."  
  
"Okay then. But only this time. Next time you have to work   
things out on your own. I swear to God, it's like I'm covering for   
some...super hero or something."  
  
Ha. Yes, that's right, by day I am Donna Moss, an hysterically   
funny and fascinating date. By night I am...*Donnatella Moss, Super   
Assistant* "Thanks, Norie," I say meekly. After giving her all the   
details, I hang up, brace up, and prepare to go hold the pieces of   
Josh together. Again.  
  
And if Josh ever finds out what I just did, his ego with swell to   
unmanagable proportions. He'll tell Davy--erm, David...David will   
dump me...I will return to being a pathetic dateless woman in the   
prime of life...  
  
I think I'm going to cry.  
  
~*~ Part Five ~*~  
"You are not angry with people when you laugh at them. Humor teaches tolerance."  
--W. Somerset Maugham, 'The Summing Up'.  
  
  
It's too bad I'm preoccupied with the tangled mess my life has suddenly become, because I'm missing the chance to watch Josh at his finest. He's throwing himself into the whole Tobacco thing, and his enthusiasm is a beautiful thing to watch.  
  
But I am preoccupied. Is it because my mentor was recently killed in a car accident, you wonder? No. Because my twin sister is on a date with my Almost Boyfriend? No. Because there is a very good chance the President of the United States will be impeached? No. Wait, you say, could it be because she thinks she left the stove on this morning?  
  
Nope, it's not that either. It's Josh.  
  
I will admit that back in the days when I had a small crush on my boss, I was frequently preoccupied with him. But that stage is behind me now. It is dead and buried. Bereft of life, it rests in peace...you get the picture.   
  
What has arrested my attention this time is not his heart-breaking smile, nor his warm brown eyes, nor...okay, how about I just tell you what the problem is?  
  
He's looking at me.  
  
I swear I haven't completely lost it. You see, it's the way he's looking at me that's bothering me. There's something bubbling away just below the surface of Joshua Lyman, and for the first time since last winter, I can't tell what it is.  
  
For most of the day I've been worried it's the PTSD making a reappearance. But there hasn't been anything to support it, other than his inability to focus on anything. I've had to plant myself in his office for the entire lunch period, just to keep him on track. I feel like a third grade teacher.   
  
"So, are we done?" I ask him. He looks up from his writing. And smiles. Augh.  
  
"What? Oh, what time is it? Twelve thirty?"  
  
"It's twelve fifty-eight, Josh. And that's all the info I have for the thing."  
  
"Okay. Sorry. You go get some lunch, okay?" he tells me, going back to his writing.  
  
What? Have my ears deceived me? "Lunch?"  
  
Josh smirks at the page. "Yeah, lunch. The mid-day meal, which for you usually consists of a sandwich and yogurt with these weird bran flakes stirred in. Remember?"  
  
"I know what lunch is, Josh," I retort. "I'm just wondering when the pod people took you over."  
  
He sighs and puts the pen down. "Are we really going to do this again?"  
  
I cross my arms stubbornly. "We're going to do it until you tell me what's going on. First you sabotaged my lunch date and then all of a suddenly you stop being...well, you. So I want to know what's going on." I take a deep breath and decide to take the bull by the horns. "Is this another episode, Josh? Is that's what's going on? Because you know you can tell me. In fact," I babble on, "if you don't tell me what's going on, then I'll worry. And you know what happens when I worry."  
  
Josh stands up, shoving the papers he was working on into an envelope. "Yeah, you morph into some kind of French fry Nazi. And, I ask you, what is a hamburger without French fries?"  
  
"I become very concerned for your health, Joshua."  
  
"I guess that's one way of putting it," he musses, and grabs his backpack.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"I have to go give this to the Tobacco Team. And I thought I'd give them a little pep talk while I'm at it."  
  
"Oh, God," I groan, visions of disaster floating before my eyes. "I'm going with you."  
  
The man honestly looks surprised. "Why?"  
  
"Damage control. That, and you can buy me lunch on the way back," I chirp. He gives me a rueful smirk - don't ask me how, but he does - and gestures for me to follow him. Of course I do. I'm not letting him out of my sight until he tells me what he's up to.  
  
After asking Bonnie to man the phones for a while, I follow Josh out to his car. "I'm sorry for making you miss your lunch date," he says once we're out there.  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
He grins, the dimples coming out in full force. "No. I'm not really. And I think your choice of lunch companion really...I don't know...sucks."  
  
"No? Really?" I pretend to be shocked. "I never would have guessed." Once we're out in traffic, I continue. "In fact, the only person you've never had a problem with me spending time with is you, come to think of it. Unless you have a problem with that, too?"  
  
Josh stops smirking. When we pull up to a red light, he turns to me. "I occasionally do. You deserve better than gomers, Donna. I just don't understand how you haven't realized that yet."  
  
Here we go. Again. "David's not-"  
  
"A gomer. Yeah." He waves this away, and continues driving. "That's what I've heard. But he's so...boring. What do you see in him, Donna?"  
  
"Honestly?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"This may come as a shock to you Josh, but I want a life outside the office."  
He swallows audibly. "Away from me--us?"  
  
  
"No!" I see I'm messing up my chance to finally get through that thick head of his. I try again. "The people in the west wing-they're my friends. But this is temporary, this whole job, the White House-all of it. David is there for me. And not because I work with him and he has to be. He's there because he wants to be there. That is what I see in him - that he likes _me_, and not just what I can do for the country."  
  
Josh swallows loudly again. I wonder if it's heartburn or something. I'm about to ask when he turns and locks eyes with me. "_I_ like you, Donnatella Moss. I like you because of you, and what you can do for the country, and because you're hysterically funny, and even because you steal my fries. I...you know, Dave's not the only one who wants to-"  
  
"Josh!" I scream, pointing out the windshield. "The car!"  
  
He spins around in time to swerve around a parked car. I clutch the arms rests and wait for my heart rate to return to normal. Josh starts muttering to himself.  
  
"What were you saying?" I ask him, the next time we stop at a light.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Back there, when you almost hit that car."  
  
"Oh...um...can't remember. Doesn't matter."  
  
I examine his profile critically. "Okay..."  
  
His fingers are restlessly tapping the steering wheel. I don't think I've ever seen him perfectly still, except for those first days after the shooting when he was drugged to the gills. Even in his sleep his fingers twitch.  
  
What? Don't look at me like that. The man has slept on my couch, drunk. It would be hard for me not to notice that kind of thing.  
  
"Hey," he says after a minute. He's looking intently out his window. I follow his gaze and see...oh no. It couldn't be. What cruel twist of fate brought about this? "Isn't that Dave? Your Dave?" Josh asks.  
  
It is. And with him is my sister, their hands twined together and swinging. Her hair reflects the bright sunlight.  
  
"Um...No?" I try.  
  
Josh's eyes narrow. "No. It is him."  
  
The man is going into high alert. I half-expect him to say, 'I'd know that ugly mug anywhere', but fortunately he refrains. Unfortunately, something else happens. Before my eyes, my Practically-Boyfriend spins my sister around so that she's facing him. Then, very cautiously, he leans forward and kisses her on the lips.  
  
"Son of a-I'm going to kill him!" Josh bursts out. He pulls over and has thrown the car door open before I can stop him.   
  
"Josh!" I yell, reaching out to grab his arm and ending up with and fist full of air. I jump out my side and catch up to him on the median. "Josh, wait a second!"  
  
"Wait a second? The two-timing bas-"  
  
"Joshua!" I say in my best CJ voice. He stops. But that might be because I have a hold on his both his arms and am standing on his left foot. He looks at me and then for the first time looks at the woman. His jaw drops. "D..Donna?"  
  
Curses. My plot has been foiled.  
  
"Isn't that...Norie? That's your sister! I...I..." he sputters to halt.  
  
I wince. "I know."  
  
"You know? You know that your...your gomer is cheating on you with your sister?!"  
  
"Well, I do now," I say, a little sarcastically. "But to his credit, I don't think that David knows." My face is starting to burn with embarrassment, and I try to hide it by leaning into Josh's shoulder. Josh, who has suddenly become ominously silent.   
  
Down the street Norie is pulling away from David, her face turning the same color as mine. She says something to David that makes him laugh, and then starts towing him down the sidewalk again.   
  
Meanwhile back on the median, I get the courage to look up at my boss. There are a thousand thoughts flying through his mind, passing before his eyes, and he finally latches onto one of them.  
  
"Dave really did take your sister to lunch," he states.  
  
I shrug. "Well, yeah. I thought it would be nice for her to get out of the apartment," I say lamely.  
  
The dimples are starting to appear. "Dave took your sister out to lunch. But Dave didn't know it was your sister, he thought it was you," he continues.  
  
"That's pretty much what happened," I agree.  
  
To my surprise, his 'I am so the man' face doesn't show up once. First, he starts shaking his head in amazed wonder, and then breaks into a smile. It's hard to resist that smile, and I soon find myself grinning right back at him.   
  
Then he starts to laugh helplessly and it's all over for me.  
  
The two of us stand on the median strip of a reasonably busy street in Washington DC, both laughing so hard we're crying, and holding onto each other just to keep from rolling on the ground and into the street. Josh's contagious laughter echoes off the buildings and pedestrians watch us and chuckle.  
  
Eventually, we finally collect ourselves enough to go back to the car. As I buckle myself in, I have to admit that the whole situation went a lot better than I would have thought. More surprisingly, I wasn't the least bit annoyed at seeing my sister kissing David. In fact, I strongly suspect that if I knew having Norie kiss David would make Josh laugh like that again, I'd arrange it in a second.  
  
  
  
~*~ Part Six ~*~  
"I was alone, I opened my eyes and your were there."  
--'You Were There', The Southern Sons  
  
I am trying not to look smug. I really am. And Donna hasn't hit   
me yet, so I guess I've been successful so far. Man, this tops even   
the `I wouldn't stop for red lights' comment. I, Joshua Lyman, am   
quite possibly one of the happiest men in America. Certainly in the   
top five. I wonder if there is a way to measure that. Maybe some   
kind of poll - I'll have to ask Joey about it.  
  
She picked me over Dave.  
  
She picked _me_ over Dave.  
  
Yeah, I just had to say it again, because the whole idea is just   
so fantastic that if someone else had told me about it I probably   
would have mocked them. Scoffed at them. Pishawed them. You know,   
just generally never believed it. Not that I doubt my power of   
attraction, mind you. It's just that, well, Donna is her own person   
and she is always finding ways to remind me of that. I think she   
does things just because I don't want her to. This time, I certainly   
didn't want her to go out with Dave. And amazingly enough, she   
didn't.  
  
She picked me over Dave.  
  
Hang on, I think I'm just going to tap dance my way down the hall.  
The bullpen is pretty much empty - most normal people have gone   
home. Notice how I didn't include myself in that category? I figure   
normal people don't fall in love with their intelligent, gorgeous,   
funny, kind and entirely wonderful best friends, either. And if   
they do, I bet they don't wait three years to realize it.  
  
Yes, I freely admit that I'm not only nuts about Donna, but I'm   
pretty much completely in love with her. Seeing her eyes overflowing   
with tears of mirth, laughing at a situation that would have made any   
other woman cry gave me my last wake-up call. And believe me, only   
the fact that we were standing in the middle of a public street   
stopped me from...you know...kissing her. That, and the fear that she   
would deck me if I tried it.  
  
My head is still spinning from all these revelations I've had this   
month. Not that I mind. Being in love with Donna Moss is even   
better than being half-crazy about her. I strongly recommend it.  
  
No, I mean, being in love with _somebody_. Other than Donna.   
Back off, buddy.  
  
So I am in a phenomenally good mood. And since there isn't   
anybody around the office..."Weeee are the champions, my frieeend..." I burst   
out. The place has great acoustics, and I like taking advantage of   
that when there's no one around. "Yoooou are the loooosers and weeee are the   
chaaaampions..."  
  
"Josh." Toby appears out of nowhere, breaking, as Donna says, my   
groove.  
  
"Hey, Toby!"   
  
He doesn't smile. He looks like he's about to tell me someone   
just killed my hamster. Then again, when doesn't he look like   
that? "You look revoltingly pleased with yourself," he observes.  
  
I continue my victory lap of the bullpen, and Toby walks along   
with me, tossing the pink ball up in the air and catching it. "I   
wouldn't say `revoltingly', Toby. Just because I am quite stunningly   
amazed that today - a day which by all accounts should have sucked   
royally, turned out so well and in fact..."  
  
"Josh - just stop that horrifying noise and I don't care why   
you're...happy."  
  
He says `happy' like it's a bad thing.   
  
Toby continues out towards his office and I loop around past the   
copier towards mine. I guess I've given CJ enough time to beautify   
her house - or whatever women do when they say they have to leave   
early to get ready for a party. Except, as she repeated pointed out,   
it is not a party and I can therefore not get drunk and make a pass   
at my assistant.  
  
CJ loves ruining all my fun.   
  
But she's giving us food, so I suppose I can forgive her this time.  
  
  
~ CJ Cregg's Apartment, 9:43pm ~  
  
Sam and I both arrive at CJ's the same time. Sam's got a six-pack   
and a bag of pretzels. Damn. I forgot to bring anything.  
  
"I bet Donna's going to be here," Sam says slyly. I smirk.  
  
"Yeah, well since we just walked past her car, forgive me if I   
don't sound impressed."  
  
He ignores me and reaches forward to ring the doorbell outside the   
brownstone townhouse. "Did CJ tell you what she's going to do if you   
upset Donna tonight?"  
  
"Um...no." I'm not sure I want to know.  
  
"I can't recall the details, but I believe it involved a rope, a   
hook, and a head of cabbage."  
  
Eeew. Nope, I didn't really want to know. "Why can't you be   
supportive, here, Sam? You're supposed to stick up for me when CJ   
starts in on her diabolical plots," I complain. Sam looks shocked.  
  
"Stand up against CJ? When she's pissed? Are you nuts?"  
  
From inside I can hear the sound of approaching footsteps. "So   
much for the Brotherhood."  
  
"The Brotherhood? Who are you, Malcolm X?" The footsteps get   
closer, and Sam starts talking fast. "Listen - the reason CJ invited   
both you _and_ Donna over tonight because she wants to make sure you   
can be the same room without you screwing up."  
  
I think I should object to that. "Hey!" I say, as the door   
opens. CJ stands there, the light behind her making her hair appear   
redder and her eyes glow with a strange maniacal light.  
  
"Hello, boys," she says evilly. Sam and I both gulp loudly. This   
should be one great non-party. Where's the alcohol...?  
  
I drop my backpack in the hall and make a beeline for the fridge.   
Sam is hot on my heels.   
  
"Hey, Josh. Hey, Sam."  
  
We both freeze. Sam pales. "Hey, Mal. What...er...what are you   
doing here?"  
  
Mallory O'Brien rolls her eyes. "Same thing you are, I bet. Oh,   
forget it. I'm going to go get some potato chips."  
  
"'Kay," Sam manages. As soon as Mal is out of earshot, I nudge   
Sam. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's on trial here. If you   
make Mal mad..."  
  
"...CJ will kill me," he finished. "I know."  
  
"Yeah. And Leo will be right behind her."  
  
His eyes grow huge and he spins around. "Leo's here? Oh, God.   
I'm not going to survive an hour," he groans. Leo, sitting in the   
corner watching Donna and Mal talk, looks particularly grumpy   
tonight. Sam's right. He is so history.  
  
I clap him on the shoulder. "See, if you had been willing to   
stick up for the Brotherhood, I could have helped you out here   
tonight. But now you're on your own, my friend."  
  
Sam glares at me. "I hope you never meet Mike Piazza again," he   
curses. I smile broadly and continue my quest to find a beer.  
  
By the time eleven thirty rolls around, I'm sprawled out on CJ's   
couch, feeling comfortably relaxed and pleasantly buzzed by alcohol.   
Not only that, I haven't done anything to incur CJ's wrath the entire   
evening. I am the _man_.  
  
"What did you do, Joshua?" Donna asks, coming over, pushing my   
feet off the sofa, and sitting down. Oh no. Not now. I've done so   
well.  
  
"Do?" I say innocently. "What are you talking about?"  
  
She makes a face. "You have that look."  
  
She knows my looks? "Hey, I'll have you know I've been on my best   
behavior tonight," I tell her.  
  
"So I've noticed. I'm very impressed, Josh," Donna says,   
snatching the beer out of my hand and taking a long swallow. I look   
away. Be a rock, Lyman. You are a rock.  
  
The CD stacker changes over, and a peppy tune floats out of the   
speakers. "Hey!" Ainsley says. "Turn it up! I love this song!"  
  
Donna grins across at her. "Me, too!"  
  
Sam, always disgustingly gentlemanly, gets up and turns the stereo   
up. I notice, to my horror, that he brushes the Republican's   
shoulder lightly on his way back to his seat. Sam and a...republican?  
  
Donna also notices this. "Wouldn't they make a cute couple?" she   
asks under the cover of music. I shrug. Honestly, the idea of Sam   
and Ainsley is mind-boggling.  
  
She gets up and walks towards the kitchen, but is snagged by a   
slightly plastered Ainsley and laughing Mal. "C'mon, Donna!" Mal   
says. "We need to liven this party up!"  
  
Donna grins, and Ainsley launches into, "He do the song about the   
sweet lovin' woman...he...da da da dum da da duh dum dum...he do the walk,   
he do the walk of life..."  
  
"Yeeeah..." Donna chimes in, "He do the walk of life...A Woo Hoo!"  
  
The rest of us sit and watch these women get down, sounding like   
little engines that could. Then Mal grabs her Dad's hand and pulls   
him to his feet. Ainsley does the same with Sam. Donna looks   
between me and Toby and picks me. Aren't I lucky. Dancing isn't   
something I should be doing in public if I want to get the attention   
of any female. I mean, sure - I'd get it. But it wouldn't be a good   
kind of attention.  
  
"C'mon, Josh. Don't get shy on me. I've seen you with underwear   
around your neck, remember?"  
  
Oh, this is going well.  
  
"Seriously, Donna - I can't really -" I start. Then Donna grabs   
my hands and starts performing a little dance step that can best be   
described as a modified Mummer's strut.  
  
"Ah woo hoo!" we carol at the appropriate time. And Donna   
continues to do her little dance, swinging my arms and looking like a   
gorgeous jean-clad chicken. Getting into the spirit of the thing, I   
swing her in large circle and back into my arms. And once she's   
there...well...so much for The Rock Lyman. I brush a strand of hair off   
her face and smile at her.  
  
She stops strutting and looks at me with wide eyes. The music   
fades away. "Josh?" she questions.  
  
I lean forward, kissing her on the cheek. "I love you, Donnatella   
Moss," I whisper in her ear.  
  
Donna turns chalk white and drops my hands. "What?" she breathes.  
  
Unfortunately, this is the exact moment my two beers catch up with   
me, and I kind of...well, I guess collapse is a good way to describe it.  
  
And while Sam and Toby are struggling to get me back onto the   
couch, the only thing my alcohol fuzzied brain can focus on is Donna,   
still standing in the middle of the room. And she's shaking like a   
leaf. Unless I'm drunker than I thought I was.  
  
CJ puts one and one together. Right before I pass out on her   
couch, she hisses in my ear, "Boy are you stupid."  
  
Yeah, no kidding.  
  
~*~ The End ~*~  
  
  
One more story left in the Operation Moss Series!!  
  
  
  



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